More than a Hangover
by Copperbell111
Summary: FRUK one shot, hurt/comfort. Francis was always a lazy so and so, he wakes up in a dreadful state, and Arthur is so angry because he thinks he has one hell of a hangover, but it turns out to be a damn sight more than that.


Francis was just lazy, that was the conclusion Arthur had come to. He would often lay in bed too late in the day and get hardly any work done, sometimes he didn't go out to work at all, and that was annoying, considering that Arthur worked so hard every day he could to make sure the bills were all paid and they had everything they needed. But here he was again in bed sleeping and it was already 11am. It wasn't so bad because it was after all, the weekend, and he didn't have to go to work anyway but that wasn't the point. Arthur had already got up and done most of the housework before going out jogging… and Francis was still asleep.

"Oh for Christs sake…." grumbled Arthur as he came into the bedroom to change out of his running clothes. "You're still in bed you lazy so and so, get up!"

"Uhhh…." groaned Francis who felt so groggy, he just couldn't move. "What…what time is it?" he muttered. He was used to feeling like this, and had learned how to handle it when his mind had gone a complete blank. The answer was not to panic, just wait… he could at least remember that.

"Honestly, its already gone 11am. Get your arse out of bed now, I've had enough of you just lazing around." Arthur said as he roughly removed the duvet from the bed.

A confused Francis just looked up at him wondering why he'd done that, and he was even struggling to remember the name of the man who was talking to him. He could do nothing but stare in confusion.

"Get out of bed you idiot!" Arthur yelled "You weren't up that late last night…"

Slowly he sat on the edge of the bed. Everything was confusing and his head was pounding, and worse, he couldn't understand a world of what the man was saying. Somehow he knew that if he just stayed calm then he could start to make sense of it all. It felt as though there was a big blank space in his mind where something should be, and something should be working but nothing was happening.

"And furthermore, you need to stop your drinking!" Arthur continued "I had to clean up not one but three smashed glasses in the kitchen!" he yelled. "I'm just about sick of this!"

Slowly, Francis remembered the man's name was Arthur, that was it, Arthur, of course it was, and then he wondered how he could have forgotten it.

"Why are you just sitting there?" yelled Arthur. "Get up! Get in the shower… sort yourself out for heavens sake!" he said as he removed the duvet cover. "I have so much laundry to do…" he grumbled. "You don't do anything at all… this isn't a free for all you know… " he fussed.

Francis didn't understand at first what he was talking about but he kind of got the idea that he should somehow move, and … maybe get in the shower… though it took him a minute to remember what for. He went to his chest of drawers and took out a pair of fashionable blue jeans and a striped shirt, and waistcoat, to wear when he had finished showering. Immediately he felt a strange and violent jolt in his arms and dropped everything on the floor. His arms continued to shudder for a couple of moments afterwards and he wobbled a little. This had happened before and he was used to it but today it all seemed particularly bad.

"Now what have you done?" Arthur grumbled "Pick your clothes up!"

At first he couldn't get a handle on anything but managed finally to pick his clothes up. He laid them on the bed ready for when he got out of the shower.

"I'll be downstairs." uttered Arthur angrily. "Seriously, I have to do everything around here… " he muttered as he left the room.

Eventually he made it to the shower but as he got in he just felt like he could fall over, his head was spinning and his body was shuddering.

"Uhh…" he uttered "Stop… stop it…." he said to himself, trying to keep control. He didn't want to fall whilst in the shower, but he got in anyway and switched it on, leaning against the wall so he wouldn't fall over. This was really difficult today, but he managed to get a quick shower and then even managed to get out of it and get to the bedroom again, thankfully without falling. As he tried to dress, his fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons and he kept shaking and shuddering.

"Stop it… s…stop it…" he uttered and tried to relax, till he was able again to try to dress. This time he was successful, but now he had to try to make it down the stairs without incident.

Concentrating hard, he held on to the bannister and slowly went down the stairs, which wasn't easy, as his body felt weak and fragile that morning, and his head was not in the best state either. He got to the bottom of the stairs without falling and stood there for a moment as his arms once again fell victim to violent jolts, three of them, one after the other.

"Stop!" he hissed and tried to control himself by punching the wall. "Come on!" he muttered. Eventually he staggered into the front room and through to the kitchen where Arthur was doing the laundry. He was very annoyed and angry with him.

"Finally." said Arthur moodily. "This will teach you not to have so much to drink." he said.

"You drink too…" Francis replied.

"Not enough to give me hangover like that." he replied, simply assuming that's what was wrong with Francis. "Pull yourself together!" he said. "Tell you what, why don't you make us a nice cup of tea?"

"Couldn't you make it?" groaned Francis "Please?"

"Listen Francis, I have been up since the crack of dawn clearing up that mess you left last night… anyone would think you'd had a fight with someone!" he said moodily. "The least you could do, you lazy bugger is make me a cup of tea!" he said. "What did you do anyway? Throw yourself into the book case?"

Francis genuinely didn't remember, and didn't understand half of what Arthur was saying. However he dragged himself to the kettle and put it on, knowing how Arthur liked his tea, he set about making it, whilst the Englishman went into the lounge to have a well earned rest. He sat on the sofa and switched on the television to catch the news.

Moments later when the tea was ready, Francis entered the lounge with two cups of steaming hot tea, one for Arthur and one for himself. He thought at least a hot drink would help, after all he felt terrible but he also felt very upset because Arthur didn't seem to realise how wretched he felt, how groggy, how dizzy. He just didn't seem to care at all.

As he was approaching him, he suddenly felt his body shuddering again, his eyelids flickered rapidly and his arms as if he'd just received some kind of electric shock, jolted and shook, once, twice, three times, and the tea spilled from the cups on to the floor, leaving a huge great stain on the carpet.

Angrily Arthur stood up, yelling at him. "Oh for crying out loud!" he shouted angrily. "Clean that up and make some more tea!" he cried. "You clumsy fucking idiot!" he yelled. "If you think I'm cleaning it up after everything I've done today…"

"I'm s..sorry…" Francis choked. He had no control over that, he didn't know what he was doing. However he put the kettle on again and returned with stain remover and soap and water to clean up the mess, which wasn't easy as he kept on shaking as he was trying to clean up.

He then made another cup of tea for Arthur and brought it in, this time with minimal spillage even though Arthur gave him a warning look, that told him he had better not spill it again or there would surely be consequences. He sat down on the sofa and lifted his own cup of tea to his lips, it felt warm and soothing, he really needed it.

"I don't know why I bother with you sometimes…" Arthur muttered. "You can't stop your drinking at all can you? How many bottles did you drink last night? Hm? Not to mention the expense. I go out working all week, you hardly lift a finger and then you go and spend all our money on wine." He growled. "I'm sick of it!" he yelled and put down his cup. "I bet you drank loads of bottles…" he said as he opened the drinks cabinet to find that absolutely no wine had been consumed at all. That was a warning sign, but he didn't take as much notice as maybe he should have.

"Hmph…" he muttered and closed the drinks cabinet.

"Even so, look at the state of you. What was it ey? Did your idiot friends buy drinks for you or what?" he continued with his barrage. "You just don't care do you?"

How could Arthur even think that? How could he even say those things? It really hurt Francis' feelings, of course he cared. Why couldn't Arthur see that? He burst into tears, letting out a deep sob and then a series of little ones.

"What are you upset about?" yelled Arthur. "I'm the one who has to clean up after you! I'm the one who does everything around here!"

Francis appeared to fall off the sofa and go head first into the coffee table. For a moment he sat there on his knees, silently as if in shock, his long hair over his face as he slowly raised a shaky right hand to his injured head.

"What the fuck Francis?" Yelled Arthur as he watched, by now realising that something was wrong.

Arthur watched wide eyed as Francis rocked to and fro, before collapsing on the ground, his right hand horribly twisted round, and his body convulsing rapidly, shuddering violently, his back arching and he just couldn't breathe, he couldn't get a breath at all.

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Arthur putting two and two together. It wasn't a hangover at all, Francis was having an epileptic fit, and by the looks of it, a grand mal. He felt so bad, so guilty for the way he had treated him that day, and other days when he'd been lazy or forgetful or… if he'd made a mess. Now he understood why those things had happened.

In a panic, Arthur ran to him and held him though he was still shuddering and shaking like nothing he'd ever seen. This was horrible and utterly terrifying. On the news he vaguely caught something about there being a 9.5 Earthquake in France but he wasn't paying much attention to that, only to his beloved Francis who was still shuddering violently in his arms, his nose bleeding badly, and the poor soul, he still couldn't breathe.

"Francis…" he uttered as tears came to his eyes "Oh God…"

Arthur held him close till the dreadful shuddering died down, and he soon began to breathe again. His eyes flickered open but he wasn't himself, not at all. Arthur was in pieces, rocking him and crying into his soft hair, hoping to God he would be alright.


End file.
